


By the Light of the Moon

by Kedreeva



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood Magic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Rune Magic, Werewolves, Witch!Pavel, werewolf!McCoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 11:58:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12012240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva
Summary: "And hand in hand, at the edge of the sand,they danced by the light of the moon, the moon, the moon,they danced by the light of the moon."Wherein Pavel rescues a cranky werewolf from a hunter's snare, and ends up with more than he bargained for.





	By the Light of the Moon

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

            Trapped

_Trapped!_

            The thought rattled around Leonard’s skull as he struggled, the scent of blood thick in the air around him. The wire of the snare bit into flesh as if his thick pelt meant nothing. Every time he moved, it tightened, strangling him. If only he could get a breath, just one…

            Leaves rustled behind him and he pulled his lips back from his teeth in a hopeless threat. The hunters had come. They would kill him. They would kill him and take his pelt, use his scent to draw his pack. They would all die.

            No, _no_ , he would not die by their hands here, trapped like an animal.

He thrashed, struggling against the snare and it sawed deeper into his neck, too much blood welling out around it. There was no room for even the helpless, pained whimper caged behind his ribs to escape.

            “Hye, eyh, shhh,” came a soft voice, and Leonard struggled to face his killer, teeth still bared. What he found was not what he expected.

            The human didn’t look like a hunter at all; he had both soft hands up, no weapons in either of them. A long staff lay on the ground near his feet, but the knife at his belt was yet sheathed. He was dressed in the furs of animals, but they were prey- deer and beaver and raccoon. Beneath a mop of dirty curls, blue, blue eyes met Leonard's, staring steadily. Unafraid.

            Leonard thrashed again, trying to take a step back, but it hurt too much. He fell still, unable to do more than just stare at the young human. This was how he died, he thought. Strung up to be skinned by a human whelp. Not even a proper hunter.

            “Imognig ot hlep oyu,” he said, soothing and firm, and Leonard had never heard that tone on a hunter before.

            His vision blurred and he tried to blink to clear it, to no avail. He had no more air; his time was up.

            Blunt fingers touched his ruff, and Leonard’s final thought was only of how gentle the touch was.

 

* * *

 

            Pavel pulled at the clasp of the snare, fingers slippery with the werewolf’s blood. The beast had passed out a moment ago, and Pavel knew that if he did not work quickly, the wolf would never wake.

            “Please do not be dead,” he mumbled as he tugged.

            But the line was not a normal line, not made to hold normal beasts, and it did not budge under his clawing fingers. With a curse, he fumbled for the runed blade at his hip, and the moment the metal touched, the snare dropped open, depositing the unconscious werewolf onto the forest floor with a horrible thump. His dark fur was matted in blood, and he was not healing.

            Snatching up the snare line, Pavel held it to the light, and saw the faint green and purple tint to the wire, shining under the blood. Poison. Most likely wolfsbane, maybe nightshade. Maybe both. He tossed it to the ground in disgust.

            Kneeling, he felt at the werewolf’s nose, and warm air ghosted over his hand. Alive, then, at least for the moment. He had to get them both out of there quickly, before the hunters that had set the trap arrived. Before they realized their prey had been stolen, rather than escaped.

            With the tip of his runed knife, he drew one sigil, and then another, on the closest tree. There was no way he could carry the wolf all the way to his cabin, but at a dead run, he could make it there and back in under half an hour. If he could fetch his deer sled, he could pull even such a large animal back home.

            The protection spell, while crude, would last that long, and keep the hunters chasing their tails if they showed up. His presence alone would force them to leave; they never operated where ‘normal folk’ could see.

            He cast a final glance back at the still-unconscious wolf, noting the rise and fall of his chest, before bolting toward home.

 

* * *

 

            Leonard roused to the smell of blood and bone and metal, laid over with herbs and the faint tinge of magic, like the aftertaste of a lightning bolt or the echo of a crashing wave. His body ached and his neck was on fire and the paw he had managed to catch in the snare alongside his throat felt tight and hot. It had broken, was broken still, but it had been bound with something.

            “Shh, shh, Wolf. Sdeaty. I lwli otn urht oyu,” came the soft voice of the human beside him. Too close.

            Struggling up, Leonard managed to get unsteadily to his feet, prying his eyes open at the last second. Vertigo wrapped around his chest and dragged at him as he peered over the edge of a table soaked in so many years of blood it had stained red-brown. His hackles raised, he did his best to snarl, but the sound was weak and sent waves of pain spinning through his neck.

            His legs buckled, and he found himself lying helplessly on the table, staring up into endless blue-green eyes.

            “Oyu rae kawe tey,” the boy said. He reached out with one herb-and-blood-stained hand, and Leonard did not even have the strength to pull away as he pet down the dome of Leonard’s head. Soothing him. Gentle. “Lte em aerc rfo oyu. Tneh oyu mya fgiht wohmreev oyu lepaes.”

            Leonard did not understand any of it, but the tone was firm and… amused. When he felt the pinprick of a suture needle at his throat, he didn’t protest it. He didn’t move at all, except to breathe, waiting for a strike that never came. The human just continued working a poultice into the wounds of his neck and stitching his flesh back together. Leonard could feel the wolfsbane stick thick in his system, but its effects eased the longer the human worked.

            Eventually, the human’s motions eased, and then he was pawing through Leonard’s fur, checking his work, looking for more to be done, but Leonard could already feel his flesh knitting. It would take a day, maybe two, but he would heal. He would live. He struggled upright just enough, and the boy didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat when Leonard gave his bloodied hand a grateful lick.

            The human did relax at that, rubbing careful fingers along Leonard’s long jaw and speaking words he didn't understand. “I cnaotn kmea oyu sayt, ubt fi oyu mcoe disine, etrhe si dofo adn lsehter. Hte uhnerts od otn omce erhe.”

            Then the human moved back, and indicated the ground, and Leonard was not sure he could make it that far, but he did not want to stay where he would be exposed. Where he would look like a carcass on a butcher’s table. So he wriggled a little and, with the human’s help, landed on three of his paws. His fourth, the one damaged by the snare, was wrapped tightly in clean, white bandages.

            When the human moved for the door to the cabin, Leonard limped after him.

 

* * *

 

            Pavel wasted no time going to the pantry and pulling out the open tin of jerky. When he returned, he found the wolf still standing in the doorway, liquid brown eyes staring at the fur pelts Pavel had collected over the past few years. None of them belonged to a wolf, thankfully. He rattled the tin in his hands, and the wolf turned to glare at him.

            “You should eat,” he said, offering up the tin to be sniffed. “Then you should rest.”

            The werewolf stared at him a moment longer, and then limped closer, nose raised to smell the meat. It was not the best, made from a nosy raccoon Pavel had found mussing up his tools, but it was better than nothing. He would open the seal of a better tin next, though it did not seem to matter much to the werewolf; he grabbed the entire tin from Pavel’s grasp and retreated as if Pavel might take it from him.

            He smiled, careful to not show any teeth. “You can have it,” he said, and then moved to shut the door behind them.

            The wolf watched him warily as he ate and Pavel paid him almost no mind, crossing the room to stoke the fire in the wood burning stove. It was far from going out, but there was a chill in the air and the night was apt to get cold. Warmth and quiet and darkness would help the werewolf. In another day or two, the full moon would pass, and he could meet the human beneath.

            The human… Pavel turned to look at the werewolf, who was nosing around the empty tin. “I wonder what I should call you,” he said, and the wolf looked up at the sudden noise. “You have a human name. Mine is Pavel.” He pointed at himself, and repeated carefully, “Pavel.”

            It might not do any good. Pavel had never actually met a werewolf, although his father had told him many stories of these elusive forest guardians. They ran beneath the full moon as wolves, with only their human-like hands to give them away. Their howls connected all the life of the forest, they used their teeth and claws to protect the borders from those who would do wrong. They were strong and feral and beautiful, and if they were treated well, they would bestow blessings upon a home or family.

            This one just tipped his head and stared at Pavel as if he were speaking gibberish. Pavel sighed and pointed to the warm fire, patting the ground in front of it in a clear indication to come sit. The wolf stayed put, rigid and wary, and instead of forcing the issue, Pavel just shrugged and moved to lie down on the nearby couch.

            He pulled out his book, removing the bookmark, and began to read. A few moments later, the wolf slunk into view, and laid down by the heat of the stove. He rested his great jaws on his uninjured paw, and stared at Pavel until his eyes drooped closed, breath evening out into sleep.

            Pavel smiled.

* * *

 

            Leonard woke to the sound of angry voices. Immediately, he was on alert, trying to orient himself to his surroundings. There was a fire beside him, and furniture across from him, but it was empty of the body it should have held. His ears pricked up when he caught the boy’s voice, and then another, deeper voice talking over him.

            Hunters.

            They had come for him after all. The human had led them right to Leonard. Betrayal. It shouldn’t have hurt – it was no more than he should have expected from a human – but it did. It hurt. He struggled to his feet, looking for an exit.

            “NO.”

            Leonard froze. He recognized that word. He knew that word.

            “Oyu hitnk I owdul elt a werewolf nito ym osuhe!” That was Pavel, as the human had called himself last night. He was yelling, and he sounded angry, and Leonard did not understand that. Pavel should not be angry- Pavel was gentle and soft and soothing. “Fi I idd htta, hetn I oduwl eb edda! Od I olko edda ot oyu? No. Oyu rae nismktae, adn oyu hodusl og adn otn ocme acbk. I od ont ilke vniundite irsivtos, adn xetn imte, I ilwl ont ikle oyu itwh ym ugn.”

            “Nife! Ist oyur idhe nhew hte ornsmte isnfd oyu,” the other voice snarled.

            That was a hunter, and Leonard found himself baring his teeth just to hear the sound of her voice. She was angry, as well, and that made even less sense. If Pavel had brought her here, or let her in, she should be pleased. She should be smug, confident. She should be killing Leonard. He laid his ears back.

            The door slammed, and Pavel returned, face red and a scowl on his lips that disappeared the second he caught sight of Leonard. He had cleaned himself at some point, Leonard’s blood washed away somehow. Pavel took a few steps closer, and then fell to his knees slowly, holding his hands out with palms up. Leonard relaxed, then. He knew that gesture, that posture.

            Friend. Friend of wolves.

            He moved forward and touched his nose to one of Pavel’s wrists, and then gave his opposite palm a gentle lick. Pavel brought his hands up and buried his fingers in the soft fur behind Leonard’s ears, tugging his face close enough to touch foreheads. He murmured something, something Leonard still did not understand, and clambered to his feet.

            When Pavel laid on the couch again, Leonard laid down on the floor beside him.

 

* * *

 

            Pavel woke to the sounds of scrabbling claws on wood and a constant, high whimper of pain. He was on his feet the next instant, still wobbly from sleep, casting about to find the source. The wolf was gone from the dying fire, and the rest of the room too shrouded in shadow to see his dark pelt, but Pavel recognized the tone.

            “Wolf,” he called gently, and then louder: “Wolf!”

            The scrabbling slowed, and Pavel stumbled toward the sound, sure now that it came from the front door. Sure enough, he found the wolf slumped against the door, claw marks torn into the blood-smeared wood. His eyes were wide-open and unseeing, lips pulled back from bloodied teeth, and Pavel noticed the savaged wreck of his door handle glinting in the moonlight.

            The soft, thready sound of wolfsong rang out, far in the distance, and Leonard threw his head back to howl in answer. Pavel slammed his hands over his ears to cut out some of the piercing sound, and yelled over him. “You can’t go to them!”

            The wolf only howled louder.

            Without thinking, Pavel dropped to his knees and grabbed for the wolf’s face, hands aiming for his snout, to stop the howl. The wolf snapped at him, but he was quicker, ready to dodge, and managed to get both hands around the wolf’s jaw.

“You _cannot_ go to them!” he said, hoping that if the wolf understood nothing else, that he would understand this. The wounds he still suffered from had not healed, would not heal like this- he had torn off the bandage around his broken paw and now it was bleeding profusely. Some of the stitches on his neck had popped, the sticky blood clumping the fur of his ruff.

            Pavel gave a shaky sigh. “You _cannot_ ,” he repeated, softer, apologetic. “You have  a broken paw, you silly beast. You have broken it worse trying to dig through my door. If you run to them, you will bleed to death.”

            The wolf stared back at him, through him, eyes unfocused. Pavel realized then that he smelled more than fur wet with blood- he smelled _infection_. This close, the wounds smelled _bad_ , like rot, like poison, like _death_. As tightly as he gripped the wolf’s face, Pavel could feel the trembling. He was dying.

            “Oh, no,” he whispered, fingers curling as the wolf wobbled. “You will not die here. Not like this. If you cannot fight for yourself, I will fight for you.”

            He eased the wolf down to the floor and released him. The moment he pulled away, the wolf’s body went limp as he surrendered consciousness. Pavel’s heart gave a little twist, but he could not waste time on worry. There was much yet to do.

 

* * *

 

            Leonard woke to the light of candles and the sharp bite of a knife into the wounds around his neck. The snare had dug deep, but this felt as if it would pierce the core of him. He drew in a ragged breath and forced his eyes open enough to see the human withdrawing a blood-covered blade, the sides and hilt of it glinting with the green glow of magic. All along its blade and hilt glowed etched sigils which Leonard recognized, even if he did not know their use.

            Forest witch.

            The human let Leonard’s blood drip from the blade into a small, wooden bowl before he used the tip to nick the flesh of his own wrist. Blood flowed forth from the damaged vein, until Pavel pressed his thumb over it to stall it. Their eyes met for a second, and the human began to speak in low, soothing tones.

            Leonard wished he could remember human words. He thought that he used to, that there was a time when he could. When words made sense. Instead, he had to trust that this human, this witch, would do nothing to harm him. Watching Pavel draw sigils on his own skin with their mixed blood was not very confidence inspiring.

            However, Leonard had no choice. He could feel the poison in his veins, could feel the sluggish pull of the wolfsbane working its way through his system. He was too hot and too cold and couldn’t get enough air to clear the fog in his head. He was dying. He had escaped the snare and he was dying anyway and the only thing standing between him and the reaper’s scythe was a lanky young human mumbling incoherent words.

            Leonard closed his eyes.

            A gentle hand laid on his shoulder, and Leonard felt himself relaxing under the touch. His mind followed the path of the boy’s fingers as he wet Leonard’s fur in their blood, drawing matching, ragged sigils on his hide. Pain bloomed under the human’s fingers as he pressed them into the stinking wounds around Leonard’s neck, worked over the shattered bones in his paw.

            Then they began to leech, and Leonard almost choked on the cold sensation of the spell as it activated. He suddenly found himself no longer of one mind, but of two, shared across the palms Pavel pressed to his flank, covering two of the sigils. The poison burned as it retreated, welling up on the surface of his skin, and he knew Pavel could feel it as well because he could feel the health of the boy under his skin. He flexed his paws and Pavel’s hands pressed into him, he drew a breath in Pavel’s chest, felt their blood burning as they healed, as they hurt, as they shared.

            As the last of the poison seeped from the open wounds, as the last of the wolfsbane burned out of their system, Pavel collapsed against Leonard’s side. Almost as exhausted, Leonard used the last of his strength to curl protectively around the human before the dark of unconsciousness claimed him as well.

 

* * *

 

            Pavel woke to the warmth of the wolf, his steady heartbeat under his ear. For just a moment, he allowed himself to enjoy it, bask in the feeling of safety and accomplishment. He had saved them. He could have killed them both, connecting the way he did last night, but he had been strong enough. His father would have been furious with him for being so reckless, but he had succeeded.

            With great effort, he struggled upright enough to smooth fur away from the strangle wounds on the wolf’s neck. Instead of wounds and oozing flesh, he found pale pink skin, tender and healed. An inspection of the wolf’s paw brought more of the same- the bones had mended, the paw weak but working. They would spend most of the day recovering their energy, but they would live.

            As the relief flooded his system, he realized as well that they were filthy, covered in tacky ichor and dried blood. The floor was coated in it as well, and the door would need cleaning and sanding down, after the assault the wolf had made on it. Luckily, his father had made it of good, solid wood, and it only suffered a few scratches. The door handle, he lamented, would need to be replaced entirely.

            It did not matter. Tomorrow night was the last night of the full moon, and then the wolf would be free of the shift, and would leave. Pavel could do the work then, when he was alone again. He tried not to think about why that hurt.

            Instead, he gently stroked down the wolf’s sticky pelt, shaking his hand a little until the wolf roused and looked blearily at him. Pavel smiled. “Good morning, Wolf. The moon is gone. Your wounds are healing. But you are smelly, and we are both dirty. I hope you are not afraid of water.”

            The wolf snorted and, for the first time, Pavel thought perhaps he actually could understand him. When he clambered to his feet, the wolf did as well, shaky but whole, and stood at his side. Pavel brushed his fingers into fur, and then led the way to the small wash room.

            The room was barely big enough to contain them both at the same time, with a claw footed tub that drained straight to the outdoors. The well was freshly drawn last year, when Pavel had finally been old enough to actually hire someone to do it, and he was still pleased to turn a handle and have fresh, cool water flow from the tap. The wolf seemed similarly impressed, lapping and lapping and lapping at the water as it flowed, and Pavel felt a little guilty that he had not gotten either of them anything to drink since they had arrived. He cupped a little of the water into his own hands to drink as well and promised he would not make such a mistake the rest of the day.

            As the water began to fill the bath, Pavel closed the door, fetched soap from the cupboard beneath his sink, and began to remove his soiled garments.

 

* * *

 

            Leonard leaned heavily against the far wall, watching the water flow from the tap, belly full of the liquid. Every muscle in his body ached, and the newly formed scars around his neck burned like a collar of fire, but his head was clear. When Pavel spoke, now, he mostly understood, and ‘mostly’ was improving the longer he stayed conscious. Whatever the poison on the snare, it had muddled his brain, started to turn him feral.

            If it hadn’t been for Pavel’s assistance, Leonard knew he would be dead.

            Pavel’s voice interrupted his thoughts before he could run too far down that rabbit hole. “Come here.”

            Leonard peeled his sluggish gaze away from the flowing water, only to find himself two feet away from his very naked companion. A strangled noise clawed out of his throat as he realized that Pavel did not mean to rinse Leonard’s dirty fur off and then bathe- he meant to drag him in with him.

            “The water will not hurt you,” Pavel said reasonably, moving to get behind Leonard, as if he meant to pick him up and physically put him into the water, and that was too much indignity for Leonard.

            He snapped his jaws close to Pavel’s reaching hands, a warning he immediately felt bad about at the injured look Pavel gave him. He huffed and climbed into the tub of his own accord, grateful of retaining a semblance of hands instead of true paws. The water was cool, but not cold, only filling the tub a quarter of the way.

            Pavel seemed to take his actions as an apology, and climbed in after him. The tub was not large enough for the both of them, but somehow Pavel made it work, moving around to kneel behind Leonard and using a small, wooden cup to pour water over Leonard’s fur. It ran off black and brown and green, a faint tinge of purple like oil on top of it, discoloring the water in the tub, and Leonard realized why Pavel hadn’t let it fill entirely.

            Leonard sat after another moment, putting his clawed hands up on the edge of the tub and closing his eyes. For a while, he lost himself in the gentle touches as Pavel cleaned him, carding fingers through his fur, pouring water over and over and over Leonard until it was time to drain the tub and start over. They went through four refills before the water ran clean. Leonard had nearly fallen asleep to the repetitive, soothing motion of Pavel’s hands.

            “Do not shake off your water,” Pavel warned him, patting his side and then pointing over the lip of the tub to the room, a clear sign to get out. “I will let you outside to do that, once I am clean as well.”

            Obediently, Leonard climbed over the edge of the tub, and stood dripping on the stone floor. It was cold in this room, colder than the rest of the house, and he found himself looking forward to sleeping by the warm fire again. He tried his best to focus on that thought, instead of watching water run slick trails down Pavel’s body as he cleaned himself. His best was not very good at the moment.

            Whatever thoughts he might have had about that vanished when Pavel climbed over the edge of the tub and plucked a ragged looking towel from a shelf. It didn’t smell like it hadn’t been washed, but it was obviously very old, with holes worn into it from use over years. It was too small for Pavel to even wrap around himself, and without his furs to cover him, Leonard could see the kid was skinnier than he should have been.

            It dawned on Leonard that he had seen no evidence of others here. Pavel had slept on the couch beside him rather than go to a bed. They had eaten jerky out of battered tins and the soap Pavel had worked over Leonard’s fur was lumpy and smelled like woodsmoke and raw mint, obviously homemade. He had bound himself to a werewolf to share the pain and poison, at great risk to himself, as if he had nothing to lose. No one to miss him.

            Pavel hung the towel to dry, and ruffled Leonard’s ears as he passed. Leonard watched him exit, and then he grabbed the furs the kid had left behind, and followed after him. Leonard stopped at the entrance to a bedroom, dropping the clothes to the side just past the door.

            The bed was neatly made, a fine layer of dust on the top furs as if it had not been slept in or used at all in a long time. Pavel rooted around in a closet, pulling out a clean set of clothing, patched up more crudely than Leonard remembered. He glanced down at the bloodied garments he had dropped, and could see the same coarse thread holding them together.

            He was alone, Leonard thought. Trapped here without a pack, without a family.

            Leonard whined, low and pained.

            Pavel turned and flashed him a smile. “I will hurry!” he said, pulling on clothing as quickly as he could.

            A moment later, Leonard took a step back to let him out of the room, and followed him back to the main room. Pavel opened the front door Leonard had spent last night scrabbling to get through, and Leonard took the cue to go outside. Pavel waited patiently while Leonard shook his fur dry and relieved himself and stretched his aching limbs carefully, still acutely aware of his freshly healed hand.

            Then he trotted slowly back to Pavel’s side, leaning hard enough into him to cause him to stumble and laugh. His fingers were warm in Leonard’s fur, gentle against the healing skin along his neck.

            “You seem better,” Pavel told him, leading him toward the kitchen. “Maybe you can run with your pack tonight after all.”

            Leonard’s heart stuttered at the reminder. Tonight was the last night of the full moon cycle. His pack would be looking for him still, desperate to get him back alive. They would call for him. They would find him, more than likely, and ask him to leave. It would be an easy thing, to call them here and reunite. Even now, even in the daylight they would hear his howl.

            Instead, he watched Pavel crack the seal on a fresh tin of jerky, and lay out a bowl of water for Leonard. He followed Pavel to the fire, watched him carefully stoke it, adding one log, two, and when he curled up on the couch to read, Leonard climbed up as well, and put his long jaws on Pavel’s lap.

            Pavel’s hand resting on his head, fingers burrowed into his fur, felt like home.

 

* * *

 

            The wolf gave a little whine and nuzzled back under his palm, and Pavel realized that he had been petting him, steady and sure, without noticing. “Sorry,” he said, and resumed stroking around the wolf’s soft face. He thought he might just be able to touch those velvet ears forever and never tire of it.

            “We cannot lie here forever,” was what he said aloud, and the wolf shifted his face to look at Pavel in question. Though Pavel could not be sure, it seemed as if the wolf had become more… _human_ since Pavel had cured the poison from his system. “I have chores to do.”

            Heaving a dramatic sigh, the wolf slithered off of Pavel’s lap and onto the floor. Pavel’s legs tingled in his absence, and he wiggled his toes to try to get some circulation back. Pins and needles raced up and down his legs as he swung them over onto the floor as well. Beside him, the wolf gave a great, big stretch and opened his maw in a yawn that showed off all of his teeth, including the minor incisors behind his canines.

            Those ones, Pavel knew, held the venom werewolves used to turn humans.

            He clambered to his feet, giving no further thought to why that knowledge did not frighten him. If the wolf wanted to bite him, he would have already done it.

            “I am going to check my traps for food,” he announced, heading for the door. He shoved his feet into his boots, the ones that belonged to his father before him, and swiftly did up the laces.

            All the while, the wolf watched him. Waiting.

            Pavel opened the front door, and stood aside. “You do not have to stay,” he said gently, not quite managing to face the wolf as he spoke. “I think that you have healed enough now. Your pack is out there somewhere. You can go to find them, if you want.”

            The wolf tipped his head and seemed to consider the situation, and then bounded past Pavel. Although he told himself this was nothing more than he had expected, Pavel still felt a little twinge of hurt. It had been nice to have company, for once. Even company that could not speak back to him.

            But when he stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind him, he realized that the wolf had stopped a few yards from the porch. He just stood there, looking back and clearly waiting for Pavel to join him. Pavel allowed himself a smile.

            “Okay, you can come with me,” he said, catching up and leading them both toward the first of his traps.

 

* * *

 

            Pavel’s mouth, Leonard decided, was connected to his legs. As they walked, Pavel talked to him. About the traps they were heading toward, and how his father had taught him to set them. About how his mother had taught him how to properly butcher a number of animals, and how he had had to use that knowledge to learn others on his own after they were gone.

            Pavel had gone quiet for a few paces after that admission before repeating it. “They died,” he said, and Leonard was glad for his sensitive hearing at that moment or he might have missed it. “They were killed.”

            Leonard’s blood ran cold for a second, and he stopped where he stood, staring up at Pavel as he passed him by. Killed? There were a lot of ways human beings were killed, but fewer out here in the middle of nowhere. The guy obviously knew about werewolves, which meant it was possible…

            Pavel turned to look, obviously confused about why Leonard had stopped, and then he smiled. “It was because of your people,” he explained. “But not their fault. My parents, they… they wanted to protect people like you. They got between hunters and a pack of werewolves, and the hunters killed them, too. I was too young to do anything about it. It was a long time ago.”

            Leonard could feel his own heart beating under his skin, so loud and hard. He remembered Pavel shouting angrily at the hunter that had come to his door looking for Leonard. He didn’t know what they said, but it was clear that Pavel was ready to walk in his parents’ footsteps. He would get himself killed the same way.

            The thought turned Leonard’s stomach, made his heart race faster.

            A long, mournful howl split the chilly autumn air, and Leonard looked to the northeast. He recognized that howl. It was closer than it had been the day before.

            “Did you hear that?” Pavel asked quietly, and Leonard could hear him trying to bury his sadness under a forced smile. “Your pack is looking for you.”

            Leonard forced his frozen limbs into action, moving to stand beside Pavel, where he could press into his leg and tell him without words that he was not going anywhere. Of course he could hear Jim and the others now calling for him. Of course he could. They were his pack, his family, the ones who had turned him and given him strength and speed and healing, and a place to belong.

            And he should answer them. They had to be worried, had to think he was dead, or worse. He should throw his head back and pour his soul out his throat the way they did on full moon nights, and tell them he was alive and well. They would come for him, if he did. They would race the wind to reach his side and welcome him back to the group. He should call for them.

            But, they would come for him, if he did, and he was not yet ready to leave Pavel alone again.

            They would find him, eventually. But not yet. Not just yet.

 

* * *

 

            Pavel ran out of words by the time they began to head back to his cabin. His throat was scratchy from overuse; although he often talked to himself, it was never with much volume or for such long stretches. It felt good to have someone to talk to, even if he was not entirely sure that someone understood a single word of it.

            A part of him hoped the wolf did not understand. He had spilled so many of his closely guarded secrets, about how his parents had died when he was twelve, about how he had been alone in the seven years since, how he had struggled to even survive at first, thieving from the snares the Hunters set and eating which plants he could remember would not kill him. How he had lied to the people who came to the house, always telling them his parents were out.

            For the most part, however, he was relieved to have told _someone_ , and he desperately hoped that his silent companion understood how lost he felt, even after finding equilibrium. If he understood, then maybe he would not go away with the moon. Maybe he would stay, and keep Pavel company, help him set traps and clean kills and tend the garden Pavel would restart in the spring.

            He brushed his fingers through the werewolf’s wiry fur, and kept his words behind his teeth. Pavel knew that werewolves belonged to the moon, and he knew that when she was gone, they had other lives. Human lives. Whether or not this one stayed was not Pavel’s decision.

            Beside him, the wolf stiffened, and Pavel looked up, instantly on guard. Through the bare trees he could see his cabin in the distance, and something moving around between them and their destination. For just a second, he wished he had brought his gun, instead of his knife. He could face off against one, or even two hunters, but there were at least half a dozen forms milling around his front door.

            Then the wolf relaxed, and looked up at him, mouth open, and Pavel could have sworn he was smiling. The wolf tipped his head just so, as if to say _come on_ , and began to trot toward the house. Bewildered, Pavel followed behind, keeping his blade sheathed.

            As they neared, he saw why the wolf was not worried.

            The circling figures frozen, heads coming up at the sound of their approach, and Pavel counted six werewolves, all staring at them as they walked.

            Pavel trailed to a stop at the edge of his cleared land, heart hammering in his chest. He watched as the leader, the alpha, allowed his wolf to come closer. Their noses touched, and the huge, golden beast tipped his head, as if listening to whatever his wolf had to say. Seconds later he looked up, gaze fixing dead on Pavel.

            Slowly, carefully, Pavel dropped to his knees, hands out with his palms up, and lowered his gaze down to the forest floor. This his parents had taught him, made him practice over and over as a child.

            _These are werewolf woods, Pashenka. You must know how to greet them._

            His mother’s words, some of the only he remembered so clearly she might have said them yesterday.

            _Show them you bear no weapon for them. You are a friend._

            The huge, hand-paws of the alpha appeared in his line of sight, the wolf’s chest obscuring his vision. He did not dare to close his eyes. He felt the soft touch of the alpha’s nose against his right palm, followed by a gentle lick to his left.

            Teeth, deadly-sharp, clamped onto his wrist, and Pavel just barely kept from jerking away. His breath stuck in his chest as he looked up and found himself lost in eyes the color of oceans he had only ever seen in pictures. He swallowed thickly, not moving, not _able_ to move, lest those secondary incisors pierce the thin skin of his wrist.

            The wolf did not move, just watched him, waiting.

            Waiting.

            Pavel pulled his gaze up a little, beyond the alpha, to find the rest of the pack circled around them, stock still and staring. Directly behind the alpha stood his wolf, ears pricked forward and head tipped in question, and it was then that Pavel understood.

            They were offering him a choice.

            He had worried about whether or not the wolf would stay, but he had never considered that he might be able to leave with them. He had hoped for the companionship of one silent creature, and they were offering the comfort of an entire group. A pack.

            His gaze dropped back to the alpha, meeting his blue, blue eyes again.

            “Yes,” he said, voice catching on the word. He swallowed again, cleared his throat, and said more clearly: “Yes, I will come with you.”

            The alpha’s jaws closed.

 

* * *

 

            _Trust you to get captured by hunters and come home with a pet_ , Jim told him as they waited for the last rays of sun to fade.

            Leonard scowled, ears back. _He’s not a pet, Jim_ , he replied hotly. _He saved my life, even though he could have died doing it. The least we could do is return the favor_.

            Jim looked up at the cabin, at the remains of the garden they could see from where they stood, the scent of stale blood on the wind from where Pavel butchered his kills. _He’s not doing so bad,_ Jim said. _He wasn’t dying._

            _He wasn’t living much, either_ , Leonard said, looking down at Pavel’s prone form. He smelled of blood and venom and change. It wouldn’t be long now. _I just…_

            _It’s okay,_ Jim told him, nosing at his ruff once in apology and understanding. _It’s okay to just want him._

            Leonard relaxed a little, relieved for the thousandth time that Jim just _got_ him, knew what he was saying even when he didn’t use words. Even when he wasn’t entirely sure, himself, what he needed to say. He supposed that was what made Jim a good alpha- he took care of his pack, always.

            At his feet, Pavel stirred, a rough noise escaping his throat as his bones began to shift and reshape. Fur began to form and his face lengthened out, ears folding out from under his mop of curls. Leonard watched as the kid’s tailbone grew out, and he was glad Nyota had suggested they get Pavel out of his furs for the turn.

            A moment later, Pavel blinked open bright blue eyes, looking slowly up at Leonard. He opened his newly-long jaws, letting out a breath, and then seemed to realize something was different. He was on his feet the next second, paws splayed on the ground, his curled fur standing up in ridges.

            _I’m a wolf!_ he shouted, and the pack winced a little despite that there was no actual sound. _I’m a werewolf_ , Pavel said, quieter, awed.

            _You’re a werewolf,_ Leonard agreed, amused.

            _You’re my wolf!_ Pavel exclaimed, and then shrank, fur smoothing and ears laying back guiltily. _I mean, the one I saved. From the hunters._

            _Yes,_ Leonard agreed. _Thanks for that, by the way. I know what you risked, even if I suspect you didn’t._

            _I did,_ Pavel said immediately, so full of conviction that Leonard had no choice but to believe him. _I knew I could have died. But I… I could not let you go. I did not_ want _you to go._

            _I’m not going anywhere,_ Leonard said, nosing in closer to Pavel, enough to touch his nose to Pavel’s cheek. He smelled like home. _Not without you anyway._

            Pavel pressed into the touch like he was starving for it. _I don’t even know your name,_ he said quietly.

            _It’s Leonard_ , Leonard said, giving his cheek a lick. _Leonard McCoy. And it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Pavel._

 

* * *

 

            That night, Pavel ran alongside his pack of wolves, his pale hide brushing against Leonard’s dark one, their footfalls nearly silent under the moonlight. The forest rushed past them, their long strides eating the ground beneath them, and Pavel had never felt so full of life. These had always been his woods, but now he belonged to them as well, and to the moon and the night and the werewolves all around him.

            To one werewolf in particular, he thought, chest warm and heart beating in tandem with Leonard’s.

            And he knew, as he added his own high, sweet notes to complete the pack’s wolfsong, that he had found somewhere to belong, that he had finally, finally come home.

 


End file.
